


It's Tuesday (I Like You)

by iknowhowyoukiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 12:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9727073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknowhowyoukiss/pseuds/iknowhowyoukiss
Summary: He figures Tuesdays were as good a day as any to remind her that he's here and he's not going anywhere. (And that he likes her.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, my darlings! Just a little flangsty thing inspired by Chameron from House. Canon Divergent from when the gang gets back to Storybrooke from Neverland. :) Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think, I've been dying to write this for awhile!

It’s Tuesday when they share their first kiss. At least, Killian thinks it is. It’s been difficult to keep track of time in a realm where time stands still, where night seemed to stretch on forever before bleeding into hazy sunrises and afternoons with daylight that barely filters in through the dense jungle.

It’s even more difficult after, because now his everyday thoughts hardly hold a candle to the ones of Emma that crowd his mind and steal his attention. His hand tingles constantly, remembering the silken gold of her hair twisted between his fingers and craving to feel it again. Everything that touches his lips -- water, rum, food -- tastes bland when he can still taste her on his tongue. Even the vibrant greens of the jungle appear dull with her jade gaze there to remind him of the challenge in her eyes before she’d tilted his world on end.

He supposes it shouldn’t have surprised him then, that after giving up three lifetimes worth of revenge and soul-bearing confessions and declarations of winning hearts all within the week, upon arriving back to Storybrooke, all of his endeavors turned towards making good on those words he’d given her.

And what better place to start than where it all began -- on Tuesdays.

* * *

She likes her coffee scalding, more black than lightened with cream, precisely three sugar cubes, and a light sprinkling of cinnamon.

Her surprised look when he drops by the station is nothing compared to the one she gives when he cheerfully places the cup in front of her and she takes her first sip. It pleases him immensely.

“Don’t get me wrong, because I always appreciate caffeine,” she tells him. “But what’s this for?”

“It’s Tuesday,” he shrugs.

Her brow quirks at that. “It’s...Tuesday,” she repeats.

“Mmhmm.”

This time her brows pinch together and she gives him a confused little smile while she studies him for a few moments. “Right.”

The corners of his mouth tug up as he settles into the chair across from her.

* * *

He’s learned that she often retreats towards the water when she’s got much on her mind, and he wonders if she feels like it’s the only place she can go to escape for a while, and if perhaps she finds it as soothing as he does -- the sound of the surf and the gulls squawking overhead, the salty smell that clings to the air, the caress of the cool breeze against the skin.

It wouldn't surprise him, the sea can be a wonderful source of calm. Comforting and familiar. Much like she’s become to him.

“You alright there, Swan?” he wonders, sitting on a small boulder beside her in a little alcove on the beach that she’s found for herself.

“Yeah,” she answers, but the word is weighted and not as convincing as she thinks it might sound.

He glances over at her, waiting for her real answer, his eyes tracing the line of her profile before stopping to linger on the toque covering her head. He shouldn’t find it appealing, the deep blue knit with the ridiculous ball of puff at the top, but it suits her somehow, and it fills him with the urge to draw her into his arms in an attempt to ease whatever appears to be plaguing her thoughts.

“It’s just...it was hard enough co-parenting Henry with Regina,” she confesses, nose crinkling with her displeasure. “You throw Neal into the mix and it’s starting to feel like there’s too many hands in the pot.”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve got just the one.”

It draws a laugh from her, just as he’d hoped it would, and it makes him smile to see her face relax and the dimple in her cheek deepen.

“Henry loves you,” he continues after a beat. “He’s got more than enough room in his heart for the three of you. It’s still new, but you’ll find a rhythm and figure it out. Because that’s what’s best for your boy.”

The look she gives him isn’t quite sure. “You really think so?”

“I really do,” he nods.

“Thanks, Hook.”

In lieu of an answer, he reaches into the inside pocket of his coat and produces a sprig of bright blue Forget-me-not flowers. His smile is just on the side of bashful when he holds it out and offers it to her.

“Seriously?” she sighs, but there’s no heat behind the question, just a fleeting softness that lights up her face.

His fingers warm where hers brush when she takes the blooms from him. “It’s Tuesday,” he says matter-of-factly, and though she rolls her eyes, he doesn’t miss the way she brings the sprig up to her nose for a sniff, nor the smile ghosting the edges of her mouth.

* * *

“Okay,” she says, the following week as she reaches for the hot chocolate he passes over to her. “What gives?”

“Pardon?”

“You know,” she frowns slightly, gesturing at the drink and waving her free hand between them. “ _This._ This whole Tuesdays thing we’re doing.”

He smiles at that, shy and perhaps just a touch goofy when he feels his heart somersault twice over. “Do we have a ‘ _Tuesdays_ _thing_ ,’ Swan?”

She huffs before sipping delicately at her cocoa, kicking a small rock from her path while they continue to stroll down Main Street side-by-side. There’s not one bit of annoyance in her expression when she sneaks a glance at him and when she doesn’t deny it, he feels his chest swell with hope and his smile widen into a grin.

“I figured Tuesdays were as good a day as any to remind you that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

The ‘ _and I like you_ ’ is left unsaid, but by the look on her face he knows she’s heard it all the same.

She swallows thickly. “Oh.”

“ _Oh_ ,” he agrees, smiling again when he feels the light bump of her arm against his.

* * *

It’s Monday when the world falls apart, when Pan’s deception comes to light and his plans to curse Storybrooke are revealed. It’s Monday when Regina tells them that the only way to stop the new curse is to reverse her first one. It’s Monday when the Evil Queen breaks the news that they will be taken back to the Enchanted Forest -- sans Emma and Henry.

It’s Monday...when they have to say goodbye.

“There’s not a day will go by I won’t think of you,” he vows.

“It’s not Tuesday,” she replies, voice hushed and wavering, her green eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I know. But I’m hoping you’ll make an exception.”

“If I must.”

Her answering smile -- small as it is -- is one he sears into his memory. It’s the last thing he sees even as he watches her drive across the town line, even as he’s swallowed up in swirling clouds of green and purple magic, his heart shattered in two.

* * *

There are fifty-two Tuesdays without Emma. Fifty-two.

Each more painful than the last.

* * *

It had been a Monday when he’d been ripped away from her, so it seems only fitting that it would be a Monday when he’d found his way back, outrunning curses and crossing realms. Giving up _everything_ for one small chance to find her.

To save her.

To bring her home.

She’s a sight for sore eyes, still as fierce and stubborn as she’s always been. It takes some coaxing and persistence -- not to mention a knee to the groin, an overnight in this world’s equivalent of a brig, and a meal of bologna disgusting enough to rival Chimera -- but he finally manages to convince her to take the potion that will restore her memories.

It’s Tuesday when she gets them back, when they catch up in the dim light of her kitchen on either side of the table, sharing a bottle of rum. There’s a buzzing at her door that interrupts them and she leaves his company to go speak with her blasted _Walsh_ and the ache in his chest is nothing compared to the one he’d lived with for the year without her.

It’s worse.

Much, much worse.

He reaches for the rum when she goes, refilling his glass with the hopes of laying his troubled thoughts and the heaviness in his heart to rest. She’s further away from him than she’d been when they’d had an entire realm and her suppressed memories between them.

“It’s Tuesday,” he says quietly, tipping his glass to the empty seat across from him before gulping down the contents.

_It’s Tuesday._

_I like you._

( _I love you._ )

* * *

Returning to Storybrooke feels like jumping headfirst into the sea in the middle of a storm. It all passes in a blur, between hunting the Wicked Witch who, as it turns out, is Regina’s half sister, not to mention Neal’s abrupt passing, and now Killian’s own bloody cursed lips.

 _I swear on Emma Swan_.

He’s given up on trying to understand the words he’s reading in the book in front of him, exhausted by all of the fruitless research they’ve been doing at Granny’s, and instead glances over at Emma again. She’s spent the better part of the last half hour making hot chocolate and staring at it over the counter, and if he’s to be honest, he’s spent the better part of the last half hour looking at her.

There’s a sign over her head, that reads ‘ _Tuesday Specials_ ’ and it makes him sigh heavily, brooding over the predicament he’s found himself in. It’s cruel what the witch has done, using his feelings to attempt to get to Emma, preying on his affections to strip the Savior of her powers and-

The hot chocolate appears in front of him the same moment Emma’s triumphant whoop fills the air. There’s a little burst of pride in him, but it is overshadowed by his sour mood, made only more sour when she joins him in booth and playfully magics his hook from his brace. He sees it dangling on the coat rack and as he grumpily goes to retrieve it, her amused giggles cut into him more than Zelena’s manipulations.

She’s playful and happy -- he would even dare to say flirty -- more than he’s seen her be in a long time and it absolutely destroys him.

It’s Tuesday, and it hurts.

It’s Tuesday, and he loves her.

* * *

It’s the closest thing they’ve ever gotten to a fight, well, unless he counts the time he’d had her on her back at Lake Nostos with a sword at her throat, but that’s besides the point. She’s being daft and bloody stubborn, insisting that she wishes to return to New York with Henry when all is said and done and Zelena is defeated. Insisting it’s the best thing for _Henry_.

But he sees straight through that excuse because he still understands her better than anyone, and what she really means, is that it’s the best thing for _her_.

“Why are you so scared of staying?” he wonders aloud, despite being fairly certain he already knows the answer.

The glare she shoots at him would weaken most men -- her brow pinched and eyes burning like fire -- but he’s never been like any of the men that have come and gone in her life and he’s not about to start now.

“I think it’s because you can see a future here,” he presses. “A happy one.”

“Let me guess,” she replies. “With you?”

Her words are meant to cut, and they do, but he sees it exactly for what it is -- another one of her defense tactics. He gets no chance to retort, Zelena and the bloody crocodile jumping into their conversation and not long after, attempting to steal his life by drowning him in a massive water trough. It forces Emma’s hand, much to his dismay, and she is stripped of her magic with her lips on his and her breath in his lungs.

It’s Tuesday, he’s alive, and to her peril, he still loves her.

* * *

One of these days, he’ll bloody stop chasing this woman. He will.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. But as he releases his hold on the ground and the portal swallows him up and closes over his head, he knows it won’t be this day.

At the end of this latest adventure -- time traveling, righting their accidental disruption of the timeline in Henry’s book, and getting Emma’s magic back -- when she sits across from him on the patio of Granny’s Diner and asks for his honesty -- asks him how he _got_ to her -- and he sees the look on her face after he finally confesses the truth of all the lengths he’d gone to in order to find her, he knows that day will never come.

“You traded your ship for me?”

“Aye.”

She kisses him then, a stark contrast to their first one in the jungles of Neverland, a softer, steadier thing that uprights the world she’d tilted over, though leaves him no less breathless.

“It’s not Tuesday,” is the best he can come up with when they break apart, his hand in her hair and their foreheads pressed together.

“I know,” she replies, her nose bumping against his. “But I’m hoping you’ll make an exception.”

Her smile is sweet and so full of affection.

“If I must,” he murmurs, matching her grin.

His lips still tingle from her kiss and it’s a feeling he never wants to go away so he leans forward and kisses her again.

(And again and again and again.)

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. Thanks to Teresa (drnucleus on Tumblr) for letting me borrow her eyes for this fic! Xx


End file.
